Lost Knight
by Maverick Butterfly
Summary: An attempt at the 100fic challenge using a series of crossovers including, but not limited to, appearances by: Selina, Clark Kent, Lex Luthor, Tony Stark, and Lois Lane. A fic collection featuring experimental pieces, drabbles, slash, het, and lots of AUs
1. Chapter 1

Hi old friends, new friends, this is Cara.

Below is my valiant attempt aft the LJ 100fic challenge-y thing using a lot of crossovers featuring our beloved Bruce Wayne. I only have a few complete, but finals will be over soon so I should be able to write more.

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Prompt: 35. Sixth Sense

Pepper got feelings about things from time to time. She could tell when something was not right, when someone was lying, or when something big was about to happen. Call it a woman's intuition call it a sixth sense, call it being empathetic, call it whatever the hell you wanted, it was what it was and right now she could tell something big had happened.

"Mr. Stark?" She calls out hesitantly taking soft, unsure steps, forward.

In the few months she has worked as Tony Stark's personal assistant she has seen him lots of different ways. She's seen him hung-over, and drunk, and sick, and angry, and happy, and on a few very unfortunate incidents she's seen him post, pre, and mid coitus. If she's lucky it's post….

He never really gets sad though, and he is always animated in whatever he does. When he's hung-over he complains loudly and makes a big show of wincing when the lighting is too bright, when he's exhausted he yawns and stretches his arms theatrically, when he's drunk he raises his glass and says something entirely inappropriate, when he's sick he denies it until Pepper forces him to his bed and that's when he curls up and drives her crazy with ridiculous demands ("I think the only thing that would make me feel better is those little white and pink circus animal cookies.. and Kindereggs. I'm sure you could fly to Europe and pick me up some in the next ten minutes, right?), when he's angry stuff breaks and people- grown men sometimes -cry, when he's well… she tries not think very often what he does behind closed doors…(and against closed doors, and on the floor, and behind not-so-closed doors) because it makes her heart skip a beat and her face gets hot..

Pepper has seen her boss in many different ways over the long months she has worked for him, but she's never seen him so subdued before. He's standing on the second floor balcony overlooking his pool with a mostly untouched scotch in one hand and a cigarette burning away in the other.

"Mr. Stark?" She calls out again; because even though she's outlasted all his other assistants she doesn't feel comfortable calling him by his first name.

"Hrm?" He glances over his shoulder.

"Oh, hey Pepper." He turns back to stare at the pool that is currently glowing an eerie blue color that gives her a weird twist-in-the-stomach sort of uncomfortable feeling she can't explain (it's that sixth sense thing again.)

"Is… is something wrong?"

"No."

"…You're lying." She says and he swirls the scotch in its glass and says nothing.

"I can tell when you're lying, Tony." She doesn't realize until hours later she called him by his first name. They stand for a long time and neither makes a move until Tony finally speaks in a quieter-than-normal voice.

"They had Bruce Wayne declared dead today."

Pepper doesn't know what to say, so she says nothing. The silence is heavy and makes her stomach keep twisting.

"He probably killed himself." Tony says without much emotion in his voice.

Pepper doesn't speak as much as make a confused and curious noise. It is her way of asking "Mr. Stark, why would you say such a thing?" without actually saying anything.

"A couple years before he disappeared I walked in on him almost jumping from a balcony at a party."

"Did you stop him?" Pepper asks, even though it's obvious Bruce didn't jump that night.

"Of course not, I made fun of him and went back inside."

Pepper lets out an indigent "Tony!"(the first of many in their long professional relationship).

Stark just smiles and turns around to lean backwards against the railing and looks at her.

"What? It was cold, and besides if he was _really_ going to do it nothing I said would have changed that, as evidence by this." He lifts up his scotch hand and waves it vaguely to indicate the entire abstract situation.

"Were you friends?" Pepper asks after a few long moments of silence.

"No," Tony says with a laugh and he flicks the cigarette on the ground.(He promised himself he'd quit, but it hasn't happened yet.)

"I hated that prick."

Pepper stares somewhere between confusion, abject horror, and indignation.

"But.. but.. why are you so upset?"

"Well, they're probably going to liquidate all his stocks and I'll have to snatch them up so no one else can become the majority share holder in _my_ company. You see when he was sixteen that little fucker surprised everyone buy out buying nearly everyone. And if he had just _killed _himself like he wanted to do the next year I could have gotten the stocks then."

Pepper continues to stare with disbelieving wide eyes, "….you're lying." She finally says.

And Tony flashes an impossibly large and shining grin.

"No, Pepper, I'm not." But something in the base of her twisting and turning stomach tells her he is.

Call it a woman's intuition, call it a sixth sense, call it empathy, call it whatever the hell you want, she could tell he was lying… He _had _to be lying…. He has to…..


	2. Chapter 2

So, in the story below... Tony may have been a bit TOO much of a dick? I dunno. So, in all honesty I'll probably update a third chapter in a day or two. It's sort of the companion piece to the first ficlet.

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Prompt 001.: Beginnings.

There is a beginning to every end, but you have to look far, far back sometimes to see it. Bruce isn't entirely sure when it began, but he knows when it is going to end. He has known for a while. It was a vague feeling at first, but it has grown steadily, and about fifteen minutes ago he knew for sure what was going to happen.

(If he closes his eyes and breathes in deep to stave off the tears, he remembers. Whether he wants to or not.)

He doesn't know for sure when it began.

(If he closes his eyes and breathes in deep to stave off the tears, he thinks it may be all those nights he couldn't sleep because he knew what waited for him when he closed his eyes.)

But he knows this is where it ends, up on the twentieth story of a Nouveau-Gothic high-rise in Gotham city. Alone.

The drunks masquerading as philanthropist are inside, separated only by large glass doors and tragedy. He couldn't stay in the stifling room anymore. It was a curious phenomenon, Bruce noted, that in that room full of people he had never felt more alone.

(If he closes his eyes and breathes in deep to stave off the tears, he thinks it was sitting alone in the precinct waiting, praying, for Alfred to wake him up and tell him he was running late for school and it's just a dream. It's all just a dream...)

He tries not to think about what Alfred would say. He tries not to think about what Rachel would do. He tries not to think about what his parents would think (they are why it started… If his Dad had just made him sit through the opera…). He tries not to think of the people who will be hurt. He tries not to think of the people he will leave behind. He just thinks about the way the air is so cold and refreshing as he stands on the thick black metal railing, his hand leaning against the horn of a stone gargoyle.

(If he closes his eyes and breathes deep to stave off the tears that itch forth, he thinks it was the funeral where he watched the earth swallow his parents whole.)

This is where it ends. This is where the Prince of Gotham lets go and learns to fly….

(If he closes his eyes and breathes deep to stave off the tears that itch forth, he thinks it may have been the day he flinched when he heard a gunshot come from a TV set.)

Or at least this is where it would have ended in a quick sound of rushing wind and a dull thud on the street below, but Tony Stark tosses open one of the doors and steps forward.

"Enjoying the view?" Stark asks with his usual flippancy as he leans forward on the railing next to Bruce Wayne's dress shoes. He takes a sip of his champagne and lights a cigarette.

"…Tremendously." Bruce replies flatly. He can feel the dull pain in his hand from gripping the statue too tightly.

(If he closes his eyes and breathes deep to stave off the tears that itch forth, he thinks it might be when he went off to boarding school and left behind Rachel and Alfred and anyone who has ever cared about him for who he is and not how much he is worth.)

A few minutes later when Tony finishes his cigarette, he tosses it on the floor of the balcony; he doesn't even bother to glance up at Bruce before he pushes himself backwards and moves to return to the warm party.

"Well," Tony says with a broad empty grin, "make sure you don't squish anyone on the way down, kay Brucie?"

Bruce Wayne doesn't say anything. He just feels the shame rise up in his throat until he can't breathe and he is drowning right there with his hand clasped so hard on the gargoyle the grainy stone digs into his skin; his palm begins to bleed.

(If he closes his eyes and breathes deep to stave off the tears that itch forth, he thinks it may have been when he realized that the loneliness and pain he felt was never ever going to go away.)

Stark isn't done yet. He turns in front of the door to look at Bruce's hunched shoulders.

"Remember, Wayne, in case you get down from there remember, down the highway, not across the street."

Bruce can't see him, but Tony lifts his glass of champagne and smiling with that same mocking grin calls out, "Cheers!" and finishes the drink before he turns back and slams the door shut behind him to rejoin the crowd. He doesn't give a second thought to Bruce Wayne.

Everyone is suffering. What makes Bruce think he's any different?

Bruce lifts his hand from the gargoyle and sees the trickle of blood that looks nearly black in the dim light. He feels a humiliation growing inside of him. He can't let Stark laugh about this. He can't let it end that way.

(If he closes his eyes and breathes deep to stave off the tears that itch forth, he thinks it may have been when he glanced down at the calendar this afternoon and realized they would have been together for twenty five years today…)

He hops down on to the balcony and wipes the blood on his expensive designer slacks.

This is where it ends.

(If he closes his eyes and breathes in deep to stave off the tears, he _knows_ it is the night nine years ago in the alleyway when it rained blood and pearls on the dingy ground.)

This is where it begins. Again.

He can't let himself drown yet. A corpse is no use to anybody. A broken body can't make his parents' murderer feel the pain and emptiness he has felt every _single_ day since they were ripped away from him. He will make Joe Chill pay. He will get justice.

There is an end to every new beginning, and a beginning to every new end.

This is where he begins.


	3. Chapter 3

Prompt Fixed, number 72. A series of three 100 word drabbles about the circuses Bruce Wayne never made it to.

* * *

The Three Greatest Circus's on Earth that Bruce Wayne Never Went To.

* * *

(If Bruce _was_ like the tabloids said.)

1.

Bruce's date still hadn't returned by the time the lights had dimmed. He occupied himself by playing with his newest cellphone applications until he received a text from Tony.

**Look Down. **

He did, and saw Stark with one hand on Bruce's date's hip; the other was holding some alcoholic drink which he subsequently used to salute Wayne while mouthing 'Cheers' before he kissed her; she certainly seemed to enjoy it.

Later the tabloids would argue over who threw the first punch, completely overlooking that during the interruption the trapeze wire broke and the Graysons weren't able to perform that night.

* * *

(A compromise.)

2.

"Wow." He breathed out and looked at his father. Thomas smiled at his son and gave him a knowing nod, "Wow." He agreed.

The contortionist clad in sequences on horseback rode off; the lights dimmed and focused on the trapeze artists. Bruce watched them with wide, fascinated eyes. He held his breath during the long moments while they flew through the air.

"See, Bruce? This was an alright compromise, sitting through that stuffy opera with your mother and me so we could all come here." Bruce didn't say anything, he just nodded. A week later he signed up for gymnastics.

* * *

(If Bruce had the life from the _Perchance to Dream _episode_._)

3.

"You'll spoil her rotten." Selina whispered. They were standing in the doorway together. Bruce's chin was resting in the spot where her shoulder and neck met. His arms were wrapped around his waist.

"She deserves it." Bruce replied.

In her sleep Helena Kyle Wayne turned over with a yawn. Selina shushed Bruce mumbling, "Careful. You'll wake her."

"That was kind of the point, Sel."

Outside an elephant trumpeted, a clown ran after a Great Dane named 'Ace' who had stolen his shoe, and a little boy with raven hair in a 'Flying Grayson' costume smiled while his family warmed up.


	4. Chapter 4

Spade.  


* * *

  
Prompt: #50

AU Bruce circa early 1900s.  


* * *

The earth was soft under the rusting metal of the shovel. It gave way underneath the pressure and he dug down and transferred large scoop next to the small indentation he had created. He repeated this. Again. And again.

"Wayne…" one of the men whispered uncertainly, afraid if he spoke too loudly the poor man might break.

"….Wayne?" Another one spoke this time. A farmboy from Kansas, "Bruce?" he tried again a few minutes later. The man- the boy he was just a _boy_ they were _all _just boys (such stupid, stupid boys with grand dreams and schemes. Full of hope and wonderment, and ideas that could never materialize)- was watching him.

Bruce didn't respond. He had to do this. He _had _to do this.

The farmboy had probably just turned eighteen. He was big for his age though- standing even a few inches taller than the already imposing Bruce Wayne.

He was no older than the others though, Bruce reminded himself as he ignored the words of the solider; he was no older than the other hundreds and hundreds of boys falling down all around them. Older in fact, than many. Older than the boys who ran away from their homes and lied in a chance to fight the Germans and the Austrians and the Ottomans.

"We need to keep moving Lieutenant; the Krauts… they're not going to wait for us to… to… you know…"

"Shut up, Kent." He managed despite the fact he could have sworn his voice had left him so many hours ago.

The boy was broad-shouldered with dark hair that was curling in the rain; his handsome face held a look of pity as he reached out a hand to grasp onto the shorter man's shoulder.

"Don't touch me," was the curt response. His voice was drained of all emotion. "Don't touch me. That's an order."

Private Kent withdrew his hand and looked at the other men around him. They had accepted that Wayne would not let them continue on until he was finished, so they had taken the unscheduled stop as an opportunity to eat, to relieve themselves, to rest... and to think of home. To dream of home. To pray they would get back, to pray they wouldn't end up like the others.

1st Lieutenant Bruce Wayne didn't stop when the shovel broke. He got on his knees and dug his hand into the earth that was coated in blood and pain and just dug deeper and deeper and deeper until he couldn't feel his fingers anymore and he was certain he'd never again be able to wash the dirt out from under his nails.

It didn't matter anymore. Nothing in this stupid war mattered anymore.

And there, on the edge of a civilization on the brink of insanity- no one watched or cared when Gotham's Prince, Bruce Wayne, son of Martha and Thomas (millionaire and industrialist) buried the body of an orphan named Richard Grayson under the heavy earth.


	5. Chapter 5

Prompt #76: Who?  
The word count is as follows, 100, 400, 200, 300.

--  
4 Interviews about Bruce Wayne that never quite made the cut.

**Tony Stark**

What do you mean people say Bruce Wayne is like me? Oh, no no _no_. That is not true. You see, I'm not an idiot. Sure his company earns a _bit _more money than mine, but his family has been around for ages. Ours has been here for less than a hundred years.

Oh, we get along just fine. I mean he can be downright _petty _sometimes though. About what? Oh. You know, the usual. He hates it when my company does better and he's _still _annoyed at me for banging his girlfriend back in college…. You know the usual.

**Selina Kyle**

He was a sweet boy. Not much going up on top, though. I'm sure if he applied himself he could have managed a decent conversation now and again about something other than himself and polo.

He is handsome though isn't he? He looks like he was carved back in ancient Greece or by Michelangelo. Have you _seen _that man with his shirt off? He is a little scarred up from all those stupid extreme sports he plays, but it only adds to it. It reminds you he is still real underneath it all…

He is still human….

We were together for a while, and sometimes our conversations would... change somehow and all of a sudden he had strong opinions and brilliant responses- especially about the future of the city.

Bruce… Bruce loves Gotham. He still has hope for it. It's…. admirable. I know that... if a city took that much from me I would have given up.

After those conversations though he would, and he never failed to do this, say something that was just _so _ridiculous and airheaded you wondered how he managed to get into Princeton.

It wasn't just his money; did you know he had a scholarship when he went? Turned it down because he could pay for it, but an _academic _scholarship because of the nearly four point oh he had at that stuffy prep academy. And he scored something like a fifteen-eighty on his SATs when he was still out of sixteen-hundred.

He cares about Gotham. That is for damn sure, even if he doesn't show it all that much, what with his recklessness. I mean, I guess when you get down to it he is just like every other citizen of Gotham, even though no one realizes it.

The citizens of Gotham think he's so different because of his fortune but.. but deep down he's just a scared alcoholic dealing with the loss of a loved one like some many other people in Gotham.

He's a poor little rich boy who watched his parents get killed in front of him when he was eight. I don't know why people think he should be anything close to normal. I don't care how much money you have, without years of therapy there is no way to just get over that…

You… you won't be printing any of this. Unless you want to talk to my lawyers.

**Lex Luthor**

Bruce Wayne and I have considered some joint business ventures before, but that is really the extent I know the man. We have been at functions together, and when we speak we usual have polite inane discussion about the local sports teams. He is a big fan of the Gotham Knights.

Why have we not gone into business together? Oh… Nothing really, usually just small legal problems we accidently overlooked on both our parts. Neither of our people seem to be all that good at reading the fine print of contracts.

No… It had nothing to do with me being charged with _anything. _Those charges were dropped, might I remind you? I would prefer you kept libel and wild accusation out of whatever article you are writing.

Now, what I was saying that Bruce Wayne and I are friendly acquaintances who have, so far, unfortunately been unable to work together.

Really? The whole Russian ballet, you say? Sure, he is a bit reckless, but that is what the young, beautiful, and rich are supposed to do. I am not too worried about it myself. When we do finally work with Wayne Enterprises it won't be like _he_ is directly involved.

**Clark Kent  
**  
He… is a nicer guy than everyone gives him credit for. Sure, he can be a bit of a.. um.. well he wastes a lot with cars and booze and clothing…. And maybe he goes to too many parties, but he isn't mean. He donates money to charities and does what he can to do what he thinks his parents would want, doesn't he? He seems like he does. I think he cares a lot about what his parents would think.

I know he's invested a lot into the city of Gotham. I was doing some research on this anonymous multi-million dollar donation to the Gotham school program, and I traced it back to Wayne. So, it seems like he does stuff even when he thinks other people won't notice, so he isn't just doing it for the press.

It must be tough for him, don't you think? Losing his parents so young and watching it happen? That would have to be hard on lots of people. His family butler seemed nice. Seemed to be a father figure for him. I don't know what he did for a mother figure, though. Probably didn't have one.

It's hard though… I know that. My parents died. Well, my birth parents died. I'm adopted; I know what it feels like. It's like... some part of you is missing and lots of people try to fill that missing part with stuff like sex, drugs, and alcohol.

It's weird though… at parties he seems to get drunker, but I've never seen him finish a glass.. or start one for that matter.

Oh me? Gee, I'm Clark Kent. I'm a reporter for the Dailey Planet… I thought you knew that, see here? This is my press pass... Hey… Where are you going? I thought we were-


	6. Chapter 6

So, I could have sworn there was a prompt that was 3, so that gave me some ideas… but then I looked back and realized there wasn't one. So this prompt is 96- Writer's choice!

In _Batman Begins _Bruce Wayne really seemed like he didn't have enough time to sleep with a lot of people, which is what I explored with this, also the three facets of his personality. The number of partners is sort of low, because to me definitely seemed too depressed to sleep with a lot of girls when he was younger(pining over Rachel who he seemed likee he never slept with), and then he was busy training for seven years so... Anyway. Included are the Nolanized version of the Batman characters Silver St. Cloud, Talia, and Selina.

* * *

iii

* * *

Brucie forgets a lot of things. He forgets who the current mayor is, the name of his latest date, and if a reporter ever asks, which they do- a lot- he can't remember how many women he's been with, but (_Bruce can; he can count it on one hand_) he laughs, shakes his head and says "That's awfully personal…" and never gives a number. (_It's safe to assume most people think it's in the hundreds…_)

Batman does his best to not forget, but after all he _is_ only human under his shroud of darkness. He's brilliant. There is no denying that. He is one of the most intellectually astounding people in Gotham, maybe even the world.

Batman does his best to not forget, even the smallest of details, because he never knows when he'll need them. At night, (_because it's always night in Gotham_) he leans over a clue from Gotham's latest nutcase: a lion, a unicorn, and something small and shiny between them. He remembers a nursery rhyme he heard a life time ago.

'the lion and the unicorn were fighting for the crown, the lion beat the unicorn all around the town….'

He brings up the communicator and in his harsh voice barks orders to Alfred, because Batman knows where the mad man will strike next. Batman doesn't forget often, but on those rare occasions he does, he has a computer that takes up the wall of a cave and at least three people he can trust- but it's not often he forgets, and it's not often he asks for help.

Bruce can't forget. He doesn't want to remember, but he does. Bruce remembers everything. At night (_because it's always night in Gotham_) he can still hear the **BANG **and the **THUD** and the **SCREAM** and then the **BANG** and the **THUD** and then… nothing.

Nothing but pearls clattering on the ground and his heartbeat in his ears.

Batman remembers the type of gun Chill used. And he knows exactly what he'd need to do to disarm the robber and toss the unconscious body to the side. He knows what to do to stop a kid from sitting alone in a police precinct waiting for next of kin.

Brucie never talks about it. He won't talk about it. When the interviewers ask he just gets up and leaves. Or he'll change the subject, usually to whatever girl he's dating at the time and then it's back to square one and they ask him how many women he's been with, and he'll smile and shake his head and say "Well, that's rather personal…" and everyone will assume it's somewhere in the hundreds…

But, Bruce remembers. The nervousness. His awkward hands undoing the buttons on his college girlfriend's blouse. Silver St. Cloud: only people with millions of dollars in their bank accounts can name their children 'Silver.'

_"Sounds like a comic book character. Or a Bond villain." Bruce comments when she's introducing herself. He half remembers another little girl hanging around the mansion when the grownups were talking-that he ignored to play with Rachel-with hair so blond it was almost white._

_"Oh, like Brucie is any better." She says, but she smiles at him and for the first time in a few years he feels his pulse racing._

_"It's just Bruce now…"_

It was clumsy and awkward, like most first times, with clinking knees and elbows and half-gasped whispers of 'are you okay?' When it was over Bruce didn't really feel all that different, but that night she slept in his cramped dorm bed and he didn't have any nightmares.

_Of course things rarely last and after a few months he is standing in his dorm room, staring at her._

_Silver is yelling and he just stares back impassively._

_"Damn it Bruce! Don't just stand there looking at me!"_

_"What is it, exactly, that you want me to do?" He asks dryly, his sharp blue eyes have dulled slightly as the year at Princeton has dragged on._

_"React!" she practically screams. Bruce isn't wearing his shoes and he can feel the scratchy carpet under his feet. "You're.. you're.. you're just so _hollow_, Bruce."_

_"I.. don't know what you're talking about, Silver."_

_"Of course you don't." Silver spits out, her light eyes narrowed. "Nothing matters to you. You don't care about anything." She pauses and lowers her eyes to the floor and maybe she's fighting back tears, maybe she's not. "You're not even in love with me," she whispers and raises her gaze to stare Bruce right in the eyes, "Are you?"_

_Bruce doesn't say anything. He's watching her. She pulls her almost white blond hair behind her ears and out of her face. She looks beautiful and it occurs to Bruce if he screws this up he might never see her again._

_"Would you say something? Would you do something?"_

_"Look, Sil.. I…." He can't think of what else to say so he trails off and has to look away because he can't stand looking her in the eyes right now._

_Silver picks up a trinket that they bought on one of their first dates, exams it for a half second or so before she flings it across the room. It slams to the right of him and shatters against the wall._

_Bruce doesn't flinch._

_"React! Get angry! Get upset! Do something! Don't just stand there!" But, he does, unable to find the words he knows he needs to say. She stomps out; Bruce stands there for a while longer before he calmly closes the door. He considers looking out the window, but he knows she won't be there when he does, so he just goes back to reading._

_It takes him three days to get around to cleaning up the mess she left. Silver spends the next twenty one days crying. And one day, sixteen weeks later, he sees her on the arm of Tony Stark at a gala function._

_The bastard winks at Bruce. And it's odd, but Bruce finds himself thinking about Rachel._

He can remember all the women he's slept with. Not that anyone would believe him.

_Brucie smiles at the woman when she glances over her shoulder at him. Her hair is sleek, black, and shines under the light. Her eyes look familiar._

_"Excuse me," he says reaching out a hand to place it on the warm skin of her shoulder, "I don't know your name."_

_"No, Mr. Wayne," she says looking down at his hand with mild displeasure, "You wouldn't."_

_She sounds familiar._

_He hasn't felt this way in years and he doesn't mind the hostility in her stance or the annoyance in her eyes because he knows he can show her he's not the man she thinks he is. And because maybe, somewhere in the back of his mind, he thinks she can help him get over Rachel(though her eyes are light like hers and her hair is dark like hers.)_

It had been so long since he felt this way. It had been so long since he looked at a girl and felt a tug that most people would say is in the 'heart' (_but Bruce knows that really it's in his throat as well as his diaphragm_).

After weeks and weeks of trying, she finally smiled at him.

_"Talia." She says and he smiles back so largely his face starts to ache, "Talia Head."_

_Her eyes look so familiar._

It was really no surprise when he iwa standing shirtless on the balcony and she approached that he assumed the glint in her hand means she found the ring.

He turned to face her.

_"You wouldn't know my name, Mr. Wayne." She hisses and he knows those eyes now. "but you knew my father's."_

_Through the pain Batman whispers_, _"Al Ghul."_

Oh, yes, Bruce remembered. He remembered Talia, sweet beautiful Talia who smelled like Jasmine, tasted like cinnamon, and jabbed a knife into his lung with tears in her eyes in the name of her dead father.

Sweet, kind Talia who he wanted to marry.

Sweet, wonderful Talia who he thought he could trust.

Who he thought he could be with.

Who he thought he could have a normal life with.

Brucie says "Which one was Talia? The redhead with the F cup? Oh! Or was she the blonde with the…"

Batman says, "Next time I need to be more careful. Next time I can't be so trusting."

And Bruce doesn't say anything. He just looks at the bandages covering his chest and hopes, _prays_ really, that he'll never see her again, because unlike her father he will always feel compelled to save her.

_"Bruce Wayne?"_

_"Sorry." He replies rubbing his right eye with the back of his hand.  
_

_"What?" Her neck is beautiful. That's probably an odd thing to notice first considering the way her dress is slit up and shows off her legs. They look strong- not stick thin like most of the women's here, but powerful and muscular like a swimmer or a gymnast.  
_

_"Whatever it is you're coming over here to tell me off about." Bruce manages to keep his eyes from her cleavage, because he's too tired for this right now. "I'm sorry. I was probably drunk and I didn't know you had a boyfriend."_

_She tilts her head and the wild curls slide over her shoulders and end a few inches below her exposed collar bones._

_"Funny."She says with a predatory smile. Bruce eyes her warily, because she walks with the gait of someone born into money, but she has the eyes of someone from the streets._

_"I try." She eyes him and he feels his pulse racing when her long nails slide against his arm as she reaches for a glass of champagne behind him. He can't stop staring at the curve of her neck._

_"Who are you?" He asks before he realizes how abrupt and almost Batman like it sounds._

_"Selina Kyle."  
_  
For once Bruce really _can't_ remember something- and that's the conversation that followed. All he knows is he ended up with her against a wall, her hands undoing the buckle on his belt.

What he does remember is skin and hands and scratches and bites and kisses. He remembers her long hair under his hands and the way the perfume she wore smelled and the way the curve of her neck looked when she arched it towards him.

He remembers the saltysweet taste of her skin and most of all he remembers a rush and surge so primal and desperate they didn't even manage to take off her dress or loosen his tie.

Of course when they walked out and pictures were snapped of the bluepurplered marks that weren't all the way hidden by the curls of her long hair Bruce shouldn't have been surprised what the tabloids claimed Brucie had done.

But this time it wasn't a lie, and when he got home he couldn't look Alfred in the eye before he headed out.

Weeks later, at night,(_because it's always night in Gotham_) Batman kisses Catwoman twenty stories above the ground, feels her body pressed tight against his, and Bruce wonders what the hell he is going to do.


	7. Chapter 7

So, this one is slashy- one sided, and a little unexpected when I was writing. I know slash can make some people uncomfortable, so if it's ever blatant I'll make sure to put a little warning like right now. And aside from the slash undertones, there is a heterosexual sex scene… sort of. Nothing too graphic. I'm sure you've seen more on TV. Just another warning. Oh, and Language. Bruce is only 17.

**Warning: **Men attracted to other men and whatnot. And some straight sex. And three F-Bombs… But I _really _like this story. And I don't quite think it's M, because you can see it all on TV.

Prompt #9, Too Much.

Okay. Before we begin, this one is based around the idea that for Rachel to be working for the DA when Chill was getting released (which I thought she was, but I need to rewatch Batman Begins) she'd have to be older than Bruce to have already gone through law school. And also on the fact that I'm pretty sure Rachel dated her _boss _(twice? Both district attorneys?)That's a little naughty. And also, if I remember correctly Nolan said TDK was six months after Batman Begins.. so… she did meet and get engaged to someone in under six months after promising someone else she'd be there for him. Oh. And Maggie Gyllenhaal was in _Secretary. _And Katie Holmes was in _Thank You For Smoking.  
_  
Stylistically as far as italics go it's thoughts and emphasis. You're bright kids. You can figure it out.

Also. It's one in the morning and there is an owl outside my window. It's weird.

* * *

Too Much

* * *

Bruce should know better than to just walk in. He knows he is supposed to knock, but he and Rachel have been best friends for so long it just sometimes slips his mind. Like right now, like when his headphones are drowning out the noise and he opens the door and sees (aside from a Turkish dwarf dancing a top an elephant while juggling ) one of the last thing he expects.

He just stands there and his eyes widen. She doesn't see him. Her head is tossed back and she's gasping for air. Her neck is exposed and the guy on top brings his mouth down and bites.

She screams and moans, Bruce supposes, but he can only vaguely hear it over his music.

_This isn't happening._ This there is absolutely no way this is real.

He sees skin and hands and Rachel's nails are dragging red marks down the man's back. He arches. He can see the sweat glistening across the muscled shoulders. His eyes trace the curve of the spine.

This isn't happening.

Bruce takes a step back.

_This is too much._

This isn't happening.

The man turns his head slightly and Bruce knows that he sees him and more than that he _recognizes_ him, because the bastard _smirks_.

Bruce just looks shocked and confused.

_This is too much._

"….Bruce?" He's sure he hears over the music that is still playing. He feels like an idiot, standing there with his eyes wide and a backpack slung over one shoulder. He wanted to see if Rachel wanted to explore Metropolis with him.

Looks like she was exploring something else…

_This is too much._

He turns and bolts. Well, he doesn't _really_ bolt; he walks out slowly and closes the door firmly behind him.

He thinks he hears his name, shouted now, over his music, but he doesn't stop.

_This is too much.  


* * *

_

Rachel finds him fifteen minutes later on the balcony of his hotel room.

"Bruce." She says.

"Hi, Rachel."

"Look Bruce.. I…" her face is flushed red and Bruce glances up at her through the corner of his eyes. He can see the purplish red mark on her neck.

"It's okay, Rachel. I should have knocked."

"Look. It.. it wasn't what it looked like."

"…I'm pretty sure it was exactly what it looked like, Rachel."

"Bruce!" She protests and brushes her messy brown hair back.

"Rachel, please."

"Bruce, I'm sorry…"

"You have nothing to apologize, you can sleep with whoever you want. I mean he is a bit _old_ for you, but that hasn't stopped you _before_."

"I know, I know. I'm old enough to make my own mistakes... but with our… history... I just... Look it must have been embarrassing for you... and because of that I'm sorry."

"Well, it wasn't all that embarrassing. I mean out of the three of us I was the only one fully clothed," he replies dryly.

"Bruce!" Rachel says again and Bruce rolls his eyes and in a practice high-pitched voice he parrots back "Rachel!" in the same tone.

She looks at him. Despite the awkwardness she feels, she smiles.

"Are we… okay, then?"

"Yeah, Rachel, we're okay."

"Good... I'm going to go shower and I'll see you later tonight, alright?"

Bruce doesn't say anything back he simply flips to the next page of the books he isn't really reading.

When he knows she's gone he leans his forehead down on cool metal of the railing. He closes his eyes and does his best to forget what he just walked in on.

_This is too much.__  
_  
"Fuck." He mumbles bitterly under his breath.

"Fuck." He repeats louder. And he remembers the look in the guy's green eyes and the smirk on his lips.

"FUCK." He screams out as he turns tosses the book he was pretending to read at the closed sliding glass door.

Except the door isn't closed anymore. And the man standing there catches it.

"Well, Bruce, just as charming as ever I see."

"Hi, Lex." Bruce says softly and glances away from those laughing green eyes.

"Since we didn't really get a chance to talk earlier, because I was _otherwise engaged_, I thought I'd stop by so we could clear things up."

"There's not much to clear up, Lex."

"I think there is." Lex turns the book over in his hands and examines it like it's the single most important thing in the world.

"You're in love with Rachel." Lex says when he finishes looking at the book and sets it down on the small table near the doorway.

_This is too much._ Bruce laughs. It sounds a bit crueler than he intended, but he finds himself crueler around his socioeconomic equals.

"No, I'm not." Bruce replies evenly. He leans back against the metal railing of the balcony.

"Judging from your reaction, I'd say differently. You're in love with that girl."

"…I'm not." Bruce says and smirks an awkward half-smirk that makes it seem like he knows more than he's saying.

"Don't bother lying to me, Bruce. You're upset. You're in love with her. Why else would you be screaming obscenities and flinging your novel around?" Lex buffs his nails on his chest and looks at everything with very bored eyes.

"Maybe Tolstoy just brings out the worst in me?" Bruce replies. His boredom matches Lex's. It's a competition, he can tell, to see who can be the most uninvolved.

"Don't even _try,_ Brucie. I saw the way you were looking at her. All that _longing_ in your eyes. And _I've_ had her now, so she'll never be the perfect little angel _you_ thought she was, will she? You can't look at her without imagining what it was like for me to feel her, _will you_? You'll imagine her begging me for more, but you saw that _already_, didn't you? And you just _stood_ there because there was nothing else for you _to_ do…" Lex takes a step forward.

"I saw the way you were looking," Lex says, his voice low and husky. It makes Bruce's own chest tremble from the vibrations. Lex places his hands on the railing on either side of Bruce's body and leans in. He places his lips next to Bruce's ear and continues, his voice even lower, "Worshipful. Wishing, pleading, you were _me_."

Instead of doing their normal functions his heart and lungs shiver.

_Wishing you _were_ her._

"It's disappointing, to see my friends make terrible decisions. That's all." He says slowly and evenly. He turns his head to the side and closes his eyes. He can't look at Lex. It's too much.

"Oh, from what I could tell I was hardly the first _terrible decision_ she's made, Wayne." Lex's breath is warm against his ear and neck and he holds back a shiver that threatens to run down his entire body.

"Rachel's an adult now. She can make her own mistakes." Nineteen-nearly twenty, just two years older than Bruce. Hardly an adult.

It'd been so long since he'd seen her, since she went off to college and seemed to forget about her best friend back home; Bruce had thought, had _hoped_, they could connect again, and things could be the same again. But, things hadn't been the same for a long time.

Things hadn't been the same since it rained pearls in Gotham.

"Let me guess, Wayne… You were just itching to be one of her _mistakes_, but she never let you, huh?" Bruce finally opens his eyes and glares at Lex with an intensity that surprises the older businessman, who simply watches him appraisingly with his green eyes.

"No, Alexander," he says slowly and with perhaps a bit more biting sarcasm lacing the words than he needs. "I never wanted to be one of Rachel's mistakes. And I am not in love with her."

"You so sure about that, Wayne?" Lex says with a devilish grin as pushes his body away from Bruce's.

Bruce closes his eyes again, for half a second while the other man moves towards the doorway, and remembers the arch of Lex's back and the look in his eyes when he turned.

"Positive." Bruce responds, almost breathless. 

_This is too much._

"Now. Get out."

"Oh, Brucie," Lex responds with a malicious grin in his eyes and a wicked tint to his smile, "that's no way to talk to me."

"You're nothing, Lex." Bruce responds. There is a desperation in his voice that makes it sound like maybe he's trying to convince more than just Lex.

"You're nothing. You're just a mistake that people will look back on and wonder how they could ever love someone as vicious and cold as you."

_(Maybe he's trying to convince himself.)_

"Love?" Lex asks with a laugh as he picks up the book he had set down earlier. "Love, really? You're so naive Bruce. Who said anything about love?"

_I did._

"Sex and love rarely, if ever, go together in our world, Wayne." Lex tosses the book back to Bruce who catches it in his hands and looks at it like there is now something horribly wrong with it. Like it's been tainted, infected, ruined. "You would do well to remember that, Wayne." Lex says with a smile as he exits the balcony and presumably the room.

Bruce should probably lock his door. Rachel can knock. Knocking is probably the best thing to do. Yes, lock the door. Close his eyes. Forget about what just happened.

Lex was right. In their world sex and love rarely went together, but love and hate curled up nicely together, like a serpent warming itself in the cold night air.

It was such a fragile balance. All he could do was close his eyes and hope the logical side would weigh out and Bruce Wayne could hate Lex Luthor for all the things he had done and all the things he one day would.


	8. Chapter 8

Purple, Prompt # 16.  


* * *

**Warnings: **A little sexual, but that goes with the territory.

1920s Bruce and Selina. Sort of a sequel to "Spade" which is chapter 4. I hope Lady Mirth enjoys this. Hahah.

* * *

The dress doesn't hide her curves. The bead work is exquisite, he can see that even from across the smoke filled room as he makes his way to where she's so comfortably lounged across the fainting couch. The room is filled with admirers. Flowers and make-up and boas and hats litter the tables.

Bruce is glad he didn't bring flowers. She might have just torn them to pieces and thrown the shredded mess on the ground.

The closer he gets the more obvious it is that the dress doesn't even _try_ to hide her curves. And maybe Bruce should be grateful for that. He's grown tired of girls binding their chests to look like they're fifteen. He likes the way he can see the curve of her breasts and the slight flare of her hips.

It's purple, the dress that is, well, purple is the only name he can think of at the moment. It's a more reddish purple. Maybe she'd call it maroon. Maybe red-violet. He doesn't really care. He just knows that he needs to get her alone. He needs to see her again.

The men are all talking and laughing; she is blowing smoke rings and looking entirely too bored.

"Sel," Bruce greets her, moving past the angry man guarding the door. Most of the time when soldiers return theydo it in uniform, but his got burned a long time ago. He's just in one of his best suits.

"Why, Brucie," she begins seductively. Her elbow is against the end of couch, and her chin is resting in the palm of her hand, while her other hand holds the cigarette. "I thought you went and got yourself killed by the Krauts." The cigarette continues its slow burn. There's a malicious glint and her eyes.

If he was a lesser man she'd have broken him years ago- long before the time in Paris that dressed in all white, save for the cross on her uniform, she had pulled the bullet out of his shoulder and called him an idiot. Longer even than when she'd begged him not to go (or as close to begging she had ever gotten- she had just said 'Bruce.' and he'd shaken his head and enlisted), or even before that when she refused to marry him, but kissed him anyway.

If he was a lesser man she'd have broken him by now.

But he's not, so he smiles.

"It is lovely to see you too, Sweetheart."

"Out." Selina barks.

"No." Bruce growls, removing the fedora and setting it on a table near a green feather boa. A man grabs his arm and Bruce gives him a look that makes the other man let go without a word.

"Not you." She says with a dramatic sigh and waves the men out with her free hand. The cigarette's smoke paints small pictures in the air.

"You heard me, out." They leave and Bruce stands alone in the center of the room.

"What do you want?"

"I don't know why I deluded myself by thinking you'd want to see me." Despite what he says, he removes his jacket, tosses it on the back of a chair, walks over to her and sits on the couch.

She doesn't say anything, just watches him with her sharp green eyes.

He reaches out a hand and touches the back of her neck.

"You cut your hair." he says. Yes, she has. She did it six years ago. It isn't a page boy cut, but rather cut more similarly to the style of a man. It is layered and the longest piece ends around her jawline.

"I've done a lot of things." she replies, and tries not to shudder when his fingers begin to play with the soft hair against her skin.

He kisses her. She drops her cigarette on the ground. He crushes it under his foot.

If she were a lesser woman he would have broken her years ago- long before the time in Paris that dressed in all white, save for the cross on her uniform, she had pulled the bullet out of his shoulder and called him an idiot. Longer even than when she'd begged him not to go (or as close to begging she had ever gotten- she had just said 'Bruce.' and he'd shaken his head and enlisted), or even before that when she had told him no, but kissed him anyway.

"Looks like you finally got the vote while I was gone." he says, like it's no big deal that he's just waltzed back in here when they had him declared dead four years ago.

"Mhm. I got a lot of stuff while you were gone." Bruce lets the jealousy and anger subside before he speaks.

Selina has never been his. Not all the way.

"Let me guess, if you had been here you would have been one of the NWP members chaining herself to the White House gates?"

"Of course. Have you met any of the women from NAWSA? They're the dowdiest women you've ever seen and they wear such sensible shoes." As if to make a point, she slides her bare foot across his leg and raises an eyebrow.

He wants her so badly it hurts. He lets his hand slide up her leg over her sheer stockings.

"Get your hands off of me, Wayne." But, she doesn't stop him. Instead she challenges him to continue, especially when she parts her legs just a fraction more so he can start working off the garter on her right thigh.

"Of course. I'm sorry, Selina. I'll stop." He doesn't. She doesn't want him to, but she won't admit that out loud right now. She can hold out a bit longer.

She is his. And she has been, for a long time.

He has been hers for even longer.

"When did you get back?" Selina asks, and acts like he hasn't just rolled down her stocking and slipped off the garter.

"This morning. My boat got in around six." he replies, and acts like he isn't sliding down her other one as well.

"You missed more than the vote. Gotham here has itself a new hero."

"Really?" Bruce sounds less than interested. He tosses the small flask that had been held in place by the garter on her left leg.

"Mhm. Beating up lots of criminals. You know: rapists, murderers, thieves, and bad cops. The occasional bootlegger that has a body count to his name."

His hands slide up her bare legs and she represses the shudder, but can do nothing about the quickening of her heartbeat.

"I missed you."

"You were gone a long time, Bruce. Things have changed."

There's a new smuggler in town, too. An elusive young thing called 'Catwoman' who hasn't had to shoot anyone or dirty any cops in the process. There are whispers she's a thief too. Steals any pretty thing that catches her green eyes.

"Like what?" What he is really saying is: 'Nothing ever changes with you and me.'

"Like… like what if I'm seeing someone? What if I'm getting married?" What she is really saying is: 'You're right, but I can stall.'

"Stop being ridiculous. You are not getting married." he retorts easily, and lets one of his hands trace down the side of her face. She's wearing a headband that's the same purple-ish color of her dress. It has beading and feathers; it makes her eyes seem even greener. And those same beautiful eyes grow a little vindictive when she replies with, "Says who?"

"You wouldn't marry me, so you're not going to marry anyone else." The way he keeps staring at her is intense. It's like he is trying to memorize ever inch of her face.

"I could, you know. I could marry someone else. Lots of men have asked."

"And you've said no to all of them." He replies, kissing her again. He pulls back, smirks, says, "Me included," then kisses her again.

She pushes him off. She can't stand it. She won't be able to hold off for much longer, she wants him so bad it hurts.

"Seven years is a long time Bruce, I want answers."

Bruce doesn't look at all fazed that she had shoved him off, but in all fairness she is now balling up his shirt in her hands.

"I was traveling. Learning things. Trying to figure out what that stupid war was all about."

"I thought you were dead, Bruce. I moved on."

"…No you didn't." is his solemn reply.

And he's right. She didn't. She knew one day he'd waltz in here like nothing had happened and kiss her like they did back in France when his shoulder was still bleeding, and like after she said 'no' years before that.

The second statement is even more laughable… Neither of them could ever move on.

She kisses him this time, lets everything she has been feeling pour into it: anger, resentment, longing, joy, excitement, ..and maybe even… no. Not the L-word. Not with them. He'll be the one to break. He'll say it first.

She pulls him down, unbuttons his shirt, and lets him help her slide out of her dress. She gets up and walks nude to the door and locks it.

When she returns to the couch, she pushes him down and gets on top. He was the one who disappeared for seven years after the war was over. He was the one who hadn't bothered to contact her or even Alfred(Though Selina and he had hardly parted on the best of terms).

He was the one that left for so long.

Things would be on her terms for now, because she couldn't let him know how much she missed him.

If they were lesser beings, they would have broken each other years ago. But they... They are the stuff of legends.

And they will never break.


	9. Chapter 9

So, basically I'm not sure how much I actually like this, but the thing was in the first year I have seven sentences, and the second year has six, and the third has five and so on and so forth…

Prompt: #10  
Years

i  
The first year was not that bad, all things considered. Alfred kept expecting Bruce to wander in any moment and ask him if he'd make him some French toast the way he always liked it. The constant barrage of reporters was pestering, but he knew Bruce would come back soon so he tried not to let it bother him too much. Bruce Wayne would return any day now; he knew that. He was just having a hard time dealing with the Joe Chill incident and had gone out of the public eye for a while. Sometimes, Bruce just needed to be alone; had had done it often as a child after his parents had been murdered he just occasionally needed to isolate himself to figure things out. He was just lying low for a while until the frenzy surrounding the Chill murder died down, then he would come back; Alfred was sure of it.

ii  
The second year was much harder, Bruce was still not back; the investigation was slowing down rapidly. There had been no word at all from him(or heaven forbid kidnappers), but Alfred was certain he would come home. Or he kept hoping he would, at least. Alfred began gardening as a way to keep himself occupied; he learned the best ways to store bulbs, prune rosebushes, he learned what plants liked what soil, which ones needed to be sheltered from the sun and which ones needed to be bathed in it, what temperature they needed regularly, what to do in case of an early frost, and he even managed to coax some pesky orchids into blooming. All in all it did what he needed it to do; it kept him occupied and he needed that. Or else he was left alone with his thoughts.

iii  
The third year Earle finally had Alfred declare Bruce dead. It was for technical business reasons, mostly so the bastard could try and liquidate Bruce's shareholdings, but it had some positive effects; it made all those calls pouring in claiming to have the next heir to the Wayne fortune stop when they all realized there was a will. And Bruce had left everything to Alfred. He didn't touch it, other than to set up a charity in Bruce's name. If he had to hear one more muttered 'Butler did it' joke when he walked by, lord help him, he could not be held responsible for what he did…

iv  
Alfred flew back home for a funeral the fourth year. It was a nice service and after it finished he went around the city visiting all his old haunts and recalling what it was like to be forty years younger. In an old pub (that he used to tell Bruce about whenever the boy had asked about England) he thought he saw a familiar face with intense blue eyes, but when he looked again it was gone. He prayed it wasn't a ghost.

v  
It was habit again. Alfred had a new routine: wake up, make breakfast, read the paper, do some gardening, make lunch, go out for a walk or drive, make diner, then go to bed. He hadn't exactly given up hope, but he was starting to believe Bruce might not come back.

vi  
Despite his earlier claims, in the sixth year, his heart still raced every time the phone rang. It fell just as quickly each time when he realized the voice wasn't his.

vii  
In the seventh year-when phantom Wayne sightings grew to little more than Elvis and alien rumors and when everyone had finally given up hope- he came back.


	10. Chapter 10

14. Green

"Necessary Lies"  


* * *

Batman is standing in her living room; it is the first thing to come to mind, until more moonlight pours in through the window and she realizes no, it is not Batman tonight. It is just Bruce Wayne.

Selina leans her back against the wall. She is wearing a simple pair of black cotton underwear and an old gray shirt that belonged to him in another life. It used to say Princeton, now it's too faded to read.

"Can I see her?" He asks. Selina says nothing, but the slight inclination of her pretty head shows him where the crib is. He's quiet when he moved across the room to stare down at the sleeping baby. Four or five months by the look of it.

"She's not yours," she lies.

"I know," he lies back.

They stand there, the cat and the bat, in civilian clothes and civilian identities not sure how to proceed.

He runs his fingers over her forehead. Her hair is a gold color. It looks like his mother's.

She is unbelievably beautiful.

"May I hold her?" He asks.

"She's not yours," Selina lies again, but it's not exactly a no, so he picks her up and listens to her soft breaths. He thinks about all the things he's missed. Like hearing the beating of her heart through the sonogram and seeing her first smile. He missed it.

She stays sleeping in his arms and eventually he places her down in the crib.

Selina stays leaning against the wall, her sharp eyes watching him in the darkness.

He leaves through the door this time, instead of through the window and over rooftops.

When he gets back to the manor and climbs in bed, he imagines that her eyes are green, like her mother's.


End file.
